Revelation
by Scouse
Summary: Foiled by the actions of his own father, Mammon has returned seeking an ally in not an archangel, but someone far more powerful. Angela must fight to keep the Spear of Destiny from being rediscovered and John is once again in the thick of things!
1. Prologue

Hey there. This is my first Constantine fic so any hints, tips, ideas or just general constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. It's set just after the film, though this prologue takes place three years prior to it (I'm assuming that the film was set around modern day? If not lemme know). Just introducing a couple of characters going to be important throughout this fic. Not sure how far I'm gonna get with it, or where it's going but I was sorely tempted to write it and eventually gave in to the urges. Not much is happening really in this chap but John should make an appearance in the first chapter and Angela will be back. This is eventually going to be a John/Angela fic so for those of you concerned about me doing a John/OFC fic no need to fear. Though it will probably take a while for them to get there, and who knows? I may change my mind…

Well, not much else to say other that I do not own anything to do with Constantine save for Fee, Nathan and Oren for the moment, perhaps more characters if and when they come along. I will say though, that the original John Constantine from the comic Hellblazer is a Scouser like me so yeah, that's my one and only feeble link to him.

Sorry it's so short, the chapters will get longer.

Hope someone out there likes!

-:o0O0o:-

Revelation.

Prologue.

August, 2002.

It was late. Past midnight and the boy, sat beside her on the back row of the number 11 night bus, lolled his head against her shoulder in an exhausted slumber, snatching precious moments of peace while he could. His hair was murky brown, like her own was underneath the peroxide blond that had grown out at least three inches in the past four or five months, leaving darker roots at her scalp and centre part. Their hair was both similarly clumped together in messy knots, almost dreadlock-like, with sweat and dirt and rain. They hadn't stay in one place long enough to get a decent wash, not since the social services had tried to split them up. Thing was that the opportunities for a cute, angelic little boy of seven years old to get a new family, a new shot at a better life, were good, hell they were great. He'd had people queuing up around the block to offer him a good life. Her options, however, were not so hot. No one wanted a crazy seventeen year old girl who dabbled in controversial art. She was more trouble than she was worth. And so they had left. People just didn't understand them, didn't see that without one, the other would not be able to live. It was their gift, to always be together, never alone, and yet it was their curse, some things a seven year old child needed not to see, needed not to know. Some things even a seventeen year old should never have to go through. But know they both did and deal with it they did together.

"You're thinkin' 'gain, Fee. I know it." his sleepy voice mumbled from where his head still rested against her and his eyes still remained closed. "You think too loud. You can tell me, y'know."

She smiled at that, smoothing a had over his filthy, lengthening hair as they swayed in time with the movements of the bus.

"Go back asleep, Nathan." she replied, turning her stare to the pitch black of the window, her own thin, drawn face staring back at her in a blurred, distorted visage of her true self. "You let me think 'bout the grown up things."

Nathan murmured something unintelligible before she sensed that sleep had taken him over again and she sighed with relief. At least in his dreams he was safe…for the time being.

Glancing out again at the flashes of darkness and light that constituted the City of Los Angeles, Fee couldn't help but hope that somehow, this place would be different. She's heard rumours among the circles of the occult that L.A was the place to go if you were seeking out a place to disappear, a place where you didn't have to hide who you really where. Neither she nor Nathan deserved to live a life pretending to be something that they were not and so she had brought them here, to the City of Angels, to the City of Demons, in search of absolution.

"You go see Papa Midnite, Girlie. He won't judge you none." a voice wheezed at her from three rows in front. She hadn't even known that he was there, sitting body twisted around so that he face her almost completely.

His face was wrinkled, age and care worn and coloured by the sun's rays. Freckles scattered across his leathery cheeks and white tufts of hair ringed his skull leaving the crown bare, skin shining in the dim light.

"Pardon?" she queried, remembering to remain polite. She didn't want to get herself into anymore trouble, especially not at that time of the night, and to be perfectly honest, she needed all the help that she could get.

"Said, Papa Midnite. He help you out wi' yo'…_special_ gift, no?" his dark eyes smiled at her from beneath bushy white eyebrows, rogue hairs that were longer then the rest of the brow, curling out at odd angles.

Fee clutched Nathan a little tighter to her side and painted a slightly perplexed smile upon her face.

"I dunno what you talkin' 'bout, Grandpa. All I need is a place to stay, Keep my head down for a couple o' nights and keep the boy here off the streets." she watched the old man carefully as he leaned forwards in contemplation of her words, lacing his long tanned fingers together languidly. "This Papa guy, he can help me out with this, yeah?"

The man's smile widened and he nodded earnestly, taking a pen from his coat pocket and tearing the corner off a nearby, discarded newspaper from several days previous.

"Girlie goes to this place, tells the man at the door that Oren sent her and then asks fo' Papa. You tell him whatcha need and he be happy to help…fo' a price." his finger and thumb held the scrap of paper tightly, moving it towards her slowly and Fee watched it warily as if it was liable to leap up and bite her.

"I ain't got no money and I ain't that kinda girl, old man." she warned him, though she reached out for the paper nonetheless.

He shrugged stuffing his hands into his pocket when she had snatch away the offered information.

"Papa ain't that kinda man." he replied standing as the bus lurched to one side and the lights dimmed almost to pitch blackness. The pupils of his eyes shimmered an iridescent ruby red for the split second that the lights were out and Fee blinked suddenly, trying to clear her tired gaze. Perhaps she was seeing things in her exhausted state?

He laughed out loud at her obvious discomfort, leaning down close and giving her shoulder a firm squeeze.

"I'da thought you'da gotten used to _us_ by now, Girlie." he chuckled pulling away again and tossing her a wink. "You see Papa an' he find something fo' you to do fo' payment." and with that away he swaggered, down the rocking public transport to the doors, waiting patiently as the driver pulled to a stop and opened those doors with a his. One final wink was offered in Fee's direction before he was away, lost in the blackness outside, an inky blackness that she herself wished that she could disappear into and find some solace at least.

"Who was that man?" Nathan asked blearily, rubbing a small fist into his squinting eyes and Fee sighed, turning her attention back onto her little charge entirely.

"No one for you to worry about, Nath." she responded gently. "Now, thought I told you to go back to sleep?"

"You never tell me anything!" Nathan grumbled a little but was stopped mid-way by a wide yawn that drew a chuckle from Fee's lips.

He was asleep again in seconds and Fee allowed her deep blue eyes to slip shut, just for a few moments she told herself, and the gentle motion of the bus lulled her troubled mind if not into a peaceful sleep then into the nearest semblance of it that she'd had in years.

-:o0O0o:-

I'd really like to know what you think, good, bad or mediocre? Lemme 'ave it, I need to know so I can make it better! Thankies!


	2. Chapter 1: Divine Intervention

It's been a while since I first posted this story and since I'm going on holiday on Friday I thought I'd better put the next part up. How do you reckon it's going? I would love the opinion of any Constantine fans, the comic or the film. Thankies to **TotallyRiddickObsessed** for commenting on the prologue. I know that prologue was very short and vague but it shall all be explained in due time. As you probably guessed Oren, the old man on the bus, was a demon. Well, tell me what you think of this first chapter.

Okay, thanks, Happy Reading!

Gem

xxx

**Chapter 1: Divine Intervention.**

-:oO0Oo:-

_Present Day._

The weather was abnormally hot, Angela thought to herself as she hefted her bag a little higher onto her sticky, burning shoulder. The sun beat down upon her with all the fiery intensity of Hell itself as she moved through the muggy, cloying air down the busy road. It should have been getting cooler, what with the blazing day coming to a close. Sunset was not far away and yet the baking rays of heat only seemed to fortify themselves against the coming night as if they fought to retain their prominent reign over the world below.

She took a deep, laboured breath of the heated air, attempting to fill her lungs as best she could and turned her attention to the great building that had been occupying her sight for several minutes as she had walked down the bustling street, dodging people who were desperately trying to make their way home with bags of groceries or briefcases or screaming children, panting and gasping in the scorching sun.

She mounted the steps to St. Anthony's Theological Society, sighing in relief as she slipped into the cooling embrace of the thick shadows by the building's feet, pausing a minute to bask in the heat's relent and regain the air in her lungs. The building was tall and wide, architecturally magnificent in every way and she pushed the heavy door in upon itself, allowing herself into the vast, vaulted rooms of the clerical establishment.

The air was slightly musty as it was within all old buildings no matter their size, but it was an even greater relief than the shadows outside had to offer and Angela pressed forwards, smiling a little as she spotted the figure of the balding man dressed in the black of a pastor's clothing.

"Father." she called out to him, though she did so with a muted, reverent tone, her smile brightening still further as he spun and greeted her with a smile of his own.

"Angela, good to see you again. Terribly extreme weather we are having, aren't we?" his large, rough hands encompassed her smaller one and held it tightly in a warm handshake.

"Terribly." she agreed fanning her flushed face with her free hand. "I don't think I have ever been this hot in my entire life." _Save for when I visited Hell._ she added silently to herself. _Though I doubt that I was classed as alive while I was there_!

Slipping her hand gently from the pastor's she shifted her bag again into a more comfortable position on her already sunburnt shoulder.

"Father, I can't stop for long. I just came because I wanted to thank you." she began after a small pause, clearing her throat and brushing a stray lock of sleek, dark hair from her face. "For reconsidering Isabel's burial. I mean, I know that it still technically seems like a suicide, but-"

Father David held up his hands in a motion for her to say no more and Angela fell silent, watching him with wide, dark blue eyes. He smiled gently.

"No need, my dear." he said in his soft, low voice. "Let us say that the Bishop received a visit from a messenger sent by the…ah…management." he chuckled briefly and Angela smiled, glancing down to the deep crimson carpet coating the floors that turned all footsteps into an almost silence as they fell. "We know now that you were right about her, but you do understand why the Bishop made his decision to begin with, yes?"

Angela gave a grudging nod of her head and shifted uncomfortably on the spot at the suddenly changed atmosphere.

"Yes, well…" her gaze flickered up to meet with his and the sadness at losing her sister was still apparent behind her night blue irises. "At least she can now be laid to rest properly."

"Indeed." the pastor nodded and his mild smile returned in an attempt to relieve the tension that had appeared at the turn of their conversation. "I still need you to decided which readings you would like at the service. No, no. You don't have to answer now. Think about it some more and I will be in touch in a few days time."

Angela allowed a relieved smile to flicker across her lips and nodded her head again. "Thank you again, David. Thank you so much." she paused again briefly, intent upon studying the toes of her scuffed trainers before she took a deep inhalation of air and fixed him with her glance once more. "There is something else that you could do for me, Father, please. I wouldn't normally be so presumptuous as to ask for assistance from someone so busy, but-"

Father David again stopped her with raised palms.

"Go ahead, Angela. I will do everything within my power to help you, you know that."

She jerked her head again, twisting her fingers together as she spoke.

"I want to have something, an artefact actually, buried with my sister. I know that she will keep a better watch over it than I ever could. It's imperative." she clasped his hands in both of hers, squeezing them tightly, waiting patiently for his reply.

"Of course, my dear girl." David answered warmly. "It's quite popular for families to want to bury the favoured possessions of a person with them. That's fine, dear. I take it the thing was special to her?"

Angela hated to lie, especially to a man of the cloth, but she swallowed her guilt and doubt and replaced them with a bright, cheerful expression.

"It was special." she settled for saying, convincing herself that it wasn't a total lie. The thing just hadn't been special to Isabel. Her sister wouldn't have minded, however, of that Angela was certain. "Well, I'd better get going." she sighed after a long silence between the two. "No rest for the wicked, don't they say?" she finally released the aging man's hands and took a step backwards.

"I must be severely wicked then." Father David joked with a chuckle and Angela joined him before bidding him a final thank you and farewell and moving for the exit.

"A few days, Angela." he reminded, calling after her and she flashed a glance over her shoulder briefly. "And if you need anything…any guidance, anything, you know you can call me at any time. Day or night."

"I'll remember that, Father." she responded, pulling open the large front door which groaned on it's hinges in protest of being disturbed. She waved one last time to the pastor who stood in the centre of the many bookshelves, framed by the beautifully carved and currently disused fireplace, before moving back out to brave the heat.

"Watch it!"

She thudded headlong into a white shirt, blinking blearily as the sun shone upon it, making her squint at it's brightness.

"Watch it yourself!" she responded, blinking again before shading her eyes with her hand and glancing up into the familiar face peering down at her. "Well, well. Not changed one bit, I see, Mr. Constantine." she couldn't help the grin that broke out onto her shaded features at his hot, flustered looking appearance. His long, black trench coat was slung into the crook of one elbow, hands thrust deep into his pockets and sleeved rolled up his forearms revealing the large black alchemical tattoos that emblazoned their underside.

"Nor have you." he replied with a smirk of his own tugging to loosen his black tie around his throat. His hair looked distinctly tousled, sticking to his forehead and plastered to the back of his neck with sweat. "It's been a while."

"Indeed it has." she countered lightly, leaning her weight onto one leg and cocking her head to one side to consider him. "Busy?"

"Very." he responded with a curl of his lips. "You?" he raised his eyebrows slightly in question and Angela's smile expanded again.

"Also very." she said slowly. "You know the life of a detective."

"Drama, drama, drama." John smirked again, a slightly tingle of sarcasm tinting his words. He rubbed slowly at his jaw before allowing his eyes to wander up to the building behind them. He was silent for a long time, so long that to anyone else it would have seemed as if he had lost interest in the conversation and moved his attention on to something else. Angela, however, knew differently and her patience was rewarded when finally he spoke again, his dark gaze still studying the masonry of the clerical edifice. "How have you been, Angela?" his deep voice was softer and more sincere than it had been before.

She took a deep breath through her nose, clasping her arms about herself as if to ward off the sudden chill that had taken over her. The night was growing cooler by every second as the sun dipped below the horizon and while it was an immense relief to feel the chill, it still made Angela shiver involuntarily.

"Coping." she replied quietly. "What can you do but cope?"

John nodded, as if satisfied with her answer, swinging his gaze back to meet hers briefly.

"Had business with the pastor?" he queried, motioning to the heavy door that had closed behind her as she had left.

"Yeah…They agreed to give my sister a Catholic burial after all. Something about divine intervention." she answered again, suppressing a second shudder as the breeze picked up, cooling the sweat on her body. She had only worn a vest top today, due to the blazing heat and was currently regretting it as goosebumps broke out over her skin.

John snorted at her choice of words before rubbing at the back of his stick neck.

"Yeah, me too. About Chaz and Beeman's funerals. Neither of them had any family to speak of. Thought I needed to do something for them at least."

"That's nice of you, John. Let me know when the dates are. I'd like to pay my respects. They deserve that at least when they died to help save me." she smiled gently at him attempting to hide the fresh wave of guilt that surged up inside of her by twisting her left wrist to glance at her watch. "Look, I've gotta be somewhere, John. It was nice to see you though." she sidestepped past him and down the few steps, intending to hurry home to escape the curious climate changes and the peculiar feelings that John's presence evoked in her.

"You too Angela." he murmured behind her and she heard the great oak doors creak open. "See you 'round."

She paused in her steps and turned to see his back disappearing into the building from which she had come moments earlier.

-:oO0Oo:-

Do you think it's a little soon for John and Angela to be meeting up again? I'm thinking about drawing it out a bit after this before they meet again. Please read and review?


	3. Chapter 2: Forewarning

The next chapter. I know not a lot has been happening and this chapter will probably been even more confusing. I do promise that it will all get clearer as I continue to write and I hope that someone out there likes this. If not let me know what you think anyway, I would love to have any opinions because I do want to improve. Also I've done a little bit of research for this one about the two new characters that I have introduced. If anyone knows any helpful websites where I can do some more religious research please let me know as well. It would be very helpful.

Please tell me what you think. Again I don't own anything to do with Constantine (unfortunately), but I do kinda own the two new characters, well this portrayal of them anyway.

Happy Reading.

Gem

xxx

-:o0O0o:-

Chapter 2: Forewarning.

John cleared his throat as he stepped up to the giant, unlit fireplace, disturbing the man that was standing staring into it's coal-black depths. He turned to glance over his shoulder, taking in John's form behind him and then turned back to the empty grate, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Hello, John." he murmured.

"Evening, Father." John responded, a falsely cheerful tone to his voice. "I take it you already know the reasons why I'm here?"

Father David sniffed and rubbed at his large nose once with the back of his fingers. It took him a few seconds to reply to John's question but he did eventually with a brief, curt nod of his balding head.

"Good." John grunted, taking a seat in one of the plush, red leather armchairs that flanked the mantelpiece, lifting one leg so that his ankle rested atop his other knee.

"Do you want to speak with them?" the pastor asked after another slightly awkward pause, though he still remained unwilling to turn about and face the man sat a few feet behind him.

"They're _here_?" John asked, a little incredulity creeping into his words.

The clergy man nodded again, as sharply as before and John gave a low whistle as if he was impressed.

"Somebody's _really_ sending out the big guns, huh, Father?" John chuckled, watching closely as the pastor shifted from foot to foot nervously. "Yeah, I'll speak to 'em, Father. Don't know if I'll be civil but-" he gave an exaggerated sigh and shrug of his shoulders though he knew that Father David couldn't see him.

"But _you_ are _always_ civil, aren't you John…" the sarcasm that rang within the soft, mellifluous voice behind them made John roll his eyes and suppress a grimace as he clenched his hands a little tighter on the arms of his chair. He composed his features again before daring to turn and glance over his shoulder at the two beings that were making their way down the sliver of crimson carpet with great leisurely, graceful strides.

The shorter of the two, though he was still tall by human standards, tugged at his pale green suit sleeves. His shoulder length auburn hair was pulled to the nape of his neck and fixed firmly there with a ribbon of the same colour as his suit. He offered John a smirk that could well have been a grimace much the same as the one that John himself had swallowed down seconds earlier, and he stopped a foot or so behind his companion's lean left shoulder.

The other stood tall, head held at a regal angle allowing white-blonde locks to cascade over his shoulders and down his back, perfectly framing his delicate, porcelain features. Cornflower blue eyes shone out from the paleness of his angular face, dark pupils flashing briefly the shade of pearls as he considered John's semi-recumbent form. He too twitched his fingers at the sleeves of his suit, though it's colour resembled that of the sky hemmed with starting gold thread at the sleeves, lapels and ankles.

"Mikey, Raph." John snorted in scornful greeting, moving to stand. "Howdy boys. I see your dress sense hasn't improved much."

"No, no, Johnny-boy. Don't get up on _our _account." the auburn haired, green clad angel said, smirk still curving his thin lips skyward, and ignoring Constantine's derisive comment about their attire. His voice was deeper than that of the firsts, rumbling within his chest and reverberating through the warm, musty air. "We're simply here on family business."

John loosed a soundless snigger, drawing the eyes of all three beings with him in the room to him directly.

"Ah, yes. I was _terribly_ sorry that your little trio was so suddenly reduced to a duo. How is old _Stumpy_ coping with mortality?" he taunted and the green suited man darted forwards, teeth clenched and emerald eyes blazing with fury at John's amused sneer.

"Now, now, Raphael." his angelic companion chided, moving an arm to block his path and stopping him short. "Can you not see that our _dear_ John here is simply trying to bait you into action?" he raised a pale golden eyebrow and Raphael nodded his head though he continued to grit his jaw together.

"Aw, Mikey. You spoil all my fun." John faked a sullen tone, snapping his fingers and shaking his head for added mockery.

"Indeed." the blue clad angel replied smoothly, his voice floating and flutelike as he brushed an imaginary spec of dust from his shoulder. "It has been such a long time, hasn't it John, since we last met? And what is it now, your _third _chance at life? Getting careless are we, Johnny-boy?"

"You know me, Mike." John shrugged nonchalantly. "I always swing on the third pitch."

"Yes," Michael cleared his throat as he spoke. "Yes, I do know you, John. And I know that this one, this time around, is your last." his startling eyes, so blue that they almost glowed purple, bored into John's deep brown ones. "Make it count."

"I will." John replied returning the archangel's stare with one of his own that was similarly as intense.

"Very well, I'll say no more on the matter." Michael announced, his attention suddenly drawn to the small golden crucifixes that were his cufflinks. He brushed his thumb over one, pulling it, tempting it into the correct position before taking a deep breath. "I would, however, like to push the matter of the fate of our dear Gabriel."

"Ah, yes." John murmured with something akin to a small but gloating grin spreading across his features. "I did see Gabe not so long ago, actually. You may find someone like Papa Midnite more able to help you in finding Gabe. You see, I couldn't give shit what happened to the half-breed!"

Thunder growled overhead in protest of the blasphemous word uttered in a house of God and both Michael and Raphael glanced at each other before returning their disapproving stares to John.

"Alright, alright!" he sighed, raising his hands in defeat and shooting a furtive glance at the vaulted ceiling also. "_Holy _shit. I couldn't give a holy shit."

"Funny, Constantine." Raphael ground out between his teeth, folding arms across his slim chest. "Just tell us where to find him."

John stood slowly, taking his time at stretching the kinks out of his back and neck just to make the two angels wait a little longer. Michael seemed to have guessed his game and simply watched him with mild curiosity whereas Raphael shifted impatiently where he stood beside his fellow angel.

"Alright, alright." John chuckled, amused at the results of his little game. He held his hands, palms towards Michael in a gesture of surrender. "I last saw him skulking around with a couple of half-breeds in Midnite's bar. Probably trying to find a way to wheedle his way back into Heaven." he snorted the last comment out in scornful distaste, reminded of Gabriel's attempt at goading John into murdering him, just so that he could regain his wings, so to speak. "Like I said, you'd be better off asking Midnite yourselves."

Michael nodded his thanks stiffly to John though Raphael looked less than impressed at the information.

"Thank you, John. Helpful as ever." Michael allowed his silvery voice to carry a hint of the sarcasm that was so commonly heard coming from the dark haired man stood before him.

"Don't get used to it." John countered. "I only do things when they benefit me."

"And how, pray tell, does _this_, you helping us, benefit _you_, hmm?" Michael's white-blonde eyebrows arched upwards, widening his almond shaped sapphire eyes. There was a knowing glint deep within their glowing depths, as if Michael knew the exact reason that John had been so willing to aid them in their search for their shamed brother. John didn't doubt that he _did_, actually, know the reason for his cooperation.

"Come on, Mikey, you gonna make me ask?" John queried, spreading his arms slightly and inviting the archangels to look at him.

Michael smirked, running a long fingered, delicate hand over his jaw as if contemplating his next play of words.

"They are fine, John. You always knew they would be anyway. Both Beeman and Chas gave their lives for another, perhaps not so _directly_, but they gave their lives for a greater cause, willingly, nonetheless." he studied John's reaction closely, watching as the tense shoulders of the grim, sardonic man relaxed, ever so slightly, as a held breath was released with relief.

"Good." he murmured after a long pause of basking in the glorious knowledge that his friends had found their way home. "Tell them I said 'hello', will you?"

Michael inclined his golden head and Raphael shuffled again, uncomfortably at his side.

"With that we shall take our leave. Father, John." Michael spun gracefully on his heel, followed instantly by Raphael who shot a final, shimmering glare at Constantine. They two strode down the stationary, crimson river towards the exit but, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, Michael stopped mid-stride, glancing over his shoulder briefly. "Oh, yes, John, before I forget," he cleared his throat, studying the many rows of religious literature and research as he spoke, feigning nonchalance. "Just a little word of warning: Something is coming. Be wary of a woman in red and purple."

John's dark eyebrows drew together in a concerned frown, his eyes boring into the retreating blue and green clad backs of the two archangels.

-:o0O0o:-

Please, please, please gimme a review. Feel free to shred away at it, I won't get better if I don't know where I'm going wrong! Pleasey-weasey!


	4. Chapter 3: A Blast From the Past

I'm back! Yay! Had an amazing holiday thought I look something like a giant, fat tomato with all my sunburn. It's still sore.

Got lots written, well, the next three chapters or so along with some more plans for the future of the fic. I'm glad you are all liking it and thanks so much for all you reviews.

**lil jake- yup, I'm gonna keep on with this one. The Constantine bug has bitten me and it has little chance of letting up anytime soon. Thanks for reading and reviewing. **

**Chi- I am updating yay! Thanks for your review!**

**the angel's halo- wow, I is honoured that you added me to your C2. Glad you like it enough to do that! Mikey and Raph, yeah I like 'em too. They're coming up in the next but one chapter with some advice for a certain ex-half-breed. **

**bekethemunch- thankies for reviewing and I did pop by and review your fic. I really like it! **

**keri- There will definitely be more John/Angel coming up soon, especially chapter 6 and 8. Thanks for reviewing. **

**witch goddess- I'm glad you don't think it's too soon for them to meet, I love John/Angela. I even like the John/Angela relationship in the Hellblazer comics though it's very subtle. Thanks for the tip about the posts, I did know about it but I was in a rush getting ready for my hols and just wanted to let people know that I hadn't died, lol. Thankies!**

**xoleanderx- wow, thanks for your lovely reviews and glad its keeping you intrigued. Here's the next chapter after 2 weeks, the next two or three should be up very soon!**

**DiAnn- I've not forgotten about it, here's the next part. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

Right, the next two or three chapters should be up very soon. I just need to type them up. This one is a little short but the next two are longer. Hope you like.

Happy Reading!

Gem

xxx

-:o0O0o:-

Chapter 3: A Blast From the Past.

By the time that John had exited the religious establishment, night had fallen completely, blanketing the world in a vast darkness that did little to quell the busyness and anxiousness that still continued to consume people who scurried around left over from the day. The air was cooler, a great relief from and starkly contrasting with the fiery heat that had lain heavily over the day from the moment that it dawned, until the last few seconds of sunset. The breeze was up, chasing an unnatural chill down John's spine as he grappled with his long dark coat, tugging his arms into the sleeves and jerking at his collar until it stood upright, shielding his neck from another assault by the rapidly cooling night air.

He had done what he had come to do. He had seen to it that his friends would be given a proper send off. A final parting gesture of goodwill, thanks and love. Both Chas and Beeman had deserved a decent burial at the very least. And he was the one who should do it for them. He owed them that, if not more. He'd never be able to repay them for everything they had done for him, without question or qualm, well, perhaps a few complaints on Chas' part, but that did nothing to diminish the fact that they had both done more for John than he could ever return.

And so, proper, decent burials were the very least, but the very last thing that he could do to show them that he appreciated what they had done for him throughout their lives.

With the details sorted and the knowledge that their selfless final acts of altruism had secured them a place in Heaven, John found his step decidedly lighter than it had been in a long while. The tension that he had been carrying like the weight of the world on his slim shoulders was alleviated, if not entirely slightly at least, putting a spring in his step and a quirk in his smile.

The words of the archangel Michael were still a great cause for concern, however, and John found his frown returning as did the pressure of worry upon his chest as he mulled them over.

A woman in red and purple? He had seen several women that very same day clad in those very same colours, making heeding Mikey's words of warning as easy as finding a needle in a haystack the size of a football pitch, and that was not easy in the slightest. In fact it was virtually impossible what with most normal women changing their clothes as often as he went through packets of Nicorette chewing gum.

He sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he turned a wary eye about him, before taking off at brisk pace, heading for home.

It was just like a half-breed to be so annoyingly helpful and yet completely useless at the very same time. He could have been a little more descriptive than simply saying 'be wary of a woman in red and purple'. What the Hell was that supposed to mean anyway? Apparently only Michael, Raphael and God knew and he would be his bottom dollar that they simply enjoyed sitting on high and watching him struggle and strain his way to a conclusion that often meant only trouble and pain for him!

"Thanks again, _Mikey_!" John mumbled, shooting a withering glare at the dark, cloud scudded sky. He received his reply in the form of great fat droplets of shockingly ice cold rain, falling slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed and force until they pelted him like tiny sharp knives.

"Wonderful!" he hissed under his breath, pulling at his coat lapels again and quickening his pace. "Great! It's real easy to tell that I'm favoured!" he swallowed his sarcastic words, forcing his head down to prevent the rain from obscuring his sight, quickening his pace a second time until he was jogging through the sluicing sheets of frigid water.

The numbing rain pelted the floor forcefully in time with John's footfalls, each droplet making a ferocious sizzle as it hit it's mark, until the night was filled with what sounded like the hissing of a thousand snakes warning away a predator.

John continued his mad dash, dodging deftly past the people who huddled together at the side of a wall, awaiting entrance into a popular club. The rain still managed to soak them, though. Girls clad in barely there skirts and revealing, low-cut tops that sparkled and shimmered in the neon lights of the club. Some were blatantly not even the legal age, only there to get drunk and high and picked up by some random men that frequented the venue.

John shook his head at the antics of his fellow humans as he passed by, giving in them a wide birth, skirting them and stepping off the curb into the puddles forming on the road.

They didn't see the bigger picture, they didn't understand that their so called "fun" was liable to get them sent _down _in the end. They wouldn't have heeded him if he had warned them, however. He'd probably come away with black eyes and a bloody nose if he did. Yep, and old Lou would have loved to join _that_ party. His minions were the ones who were most likely giving those girls a push towards choosing the most provocative outfit that they could find, or making the men knock back just one more bottle of beer before slipping that pill into an unsuspecting girl's drink while she went to 'powder her nose'.

Influence. And there were no angels there to counter it, to bring the scales back into balance.

"S'cuse me." John's shoulder thumped into another's, winding him slightly and making his head snap into the other man's direction as his hand tried to rub the ache from his tender collar bone.

Ruby red pupils flashed at him from a painfully familiar face, lips quirked wickedly at the corners in a visage of scornful amusement.

"On no, excuse _me!_" his voice was a silky s ever, the gleam in his eyes just as jeering and suggestive. His hair, slicked back immaculately, seemed invulnerable to the rain as did his dark, slate-grey pinstripe suit.

The shock was clear on John's face, it must have been for the demi-demon before him smirked wider and more wickedly. He shouldn't have been surprised really, deep down. Nothing should surprise him anymore from the things he had seen in his relatively short life.

And just as swiftly as he had arrived, the demon was away, mingling with the growing, boisterous crowd and disappearing before John could even register what was going on.

"Balthazar…" he hissed to himself, finally, slightly disbelieving.

Something was going down, something _big_ if Lucifer was resurrecting scum like Balthazar, who was an old hand at causing mayhem and trouble.

Wearily and warily, John turned his back on the place where Balthazar had disappeared, still massaging the pain from his shoulder. His time to confront the demon would come soon enough, of that he had no doubt in his mind. He would still have to keep his eye fixed firmly upon _that_ particular minion of Satan, but at that moment, all he wanted to do was get home and get out of the God forsaken rain!

-:o0O0o:-

What do you think? Look out for an update either tonight or earlier! Thoughts?


	5. Chapter 4: Dream a Little Dream of Me

Just a quick update. Hope someone out there likes it. Let me know. Or if you hate it, let me know why too.

Happy Reading!

Gem

xxx

-:o0O0o:-

Chapter 4: Dream a Little Dream of me.

The darkness about her was absolute. Impenetrable. She couldn't see a single thing. Not even her hand two inches in front of her face. And yet the darkness was not stationary, it moved and twisted and writhed like a mass of black beasts, tossing and turning and making strange, incomprehensible shapes before her eyes.

She reached out her hand tentatively, fingers splayed wide, combing through the living darkness, attempting to find something, _anything_ to anchor herself to.

"Hello?" she called out after finally mustering the courage to do so. Her voice seeped out like a curling mist only to be absorbed by the swirling blackness like a sponge would soak up water. "Hello, is anyone there?"

Silence fell hard around her ears, louder and more deafening than any sound could ever have been all in that one inexplicable moment and she spun about, trying to get her bearings, albeit unsuccessfully.

Where in the Hell was she?

Angela didn't have to wait long for a response to her thoughts. Her answer came in the form of a small flash of light, accompanied by a clicking sound. It was brief and a split second later the pitch resumed it's reign over her senses.

"Is there someone out there?" she called again, almost demanding, definitely desperate. She felt her heart shuddering out a beat within her chest, fluttering like a caged demon wanting to be free of it's confines and she cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to follow such an inappropriate path. She didn't need to be worrying about Hell and demons at that particular moment and yet her mind was constantly drawing comparisons regardless.

Suddenly the light came again, in response to her question once more, this time retaining it's glow and throwing it outwards to illuminate her surroundings. It sputtered and quivered and finally she realised that the source of the sudden brightness was a flame from a lighter. Not just any lighter. John Constantine's lighter. The amber glow played over his features as he touched the fire to the end of a cigarette held firmly between his lips, breathing the toxic stick to life and snapping his lighter shut again, killing the flame. The illumination did not recede with it, however, and for the first time, Angela realised that she was standing in John's rundown, shabby old, single-roomed apartment.

"John?" she queried, moving towards where he sat on his long dining table, feet resting on the chair directly below him. "John, what's going on?"

He glanced up at her, briefly, holding the lit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, turning back to contemplate it with a curious expression.

"You getting one of your premonitions, Angela?" he replied to her question with one of his own, almost as if he hadn't heard her. He didn't glance up from the smoke curling in thin wisps of intricate interweaving designs before him, waiting for her response.

"No…" she said finally, shaking herself out of her stunned silence. "At least…I don't think so…" her voice sounded unsure and confused even to her own ears and she glance about her warily. Her surroundings seemed blurred, however, and the harder she tried to focus upon them, the more indistinct, the more unable to be seen, they became. "John, please tell me what's happening here."

John chuckled lightly, a bitter sound that held little, if any amusement whatsoever.

"God only knows…" he murmured, perhaps only for his own benefit, after a lengthy pause of consideration. He looked up, his face upturned towards the ceiling as if her was staring towards Heaven for the answers to his own troubled questions that plagued his mind.

Angela sighed, partly impatient, and followed his gaze and suddenly she was staring up into the night sky, rain pattering down, with growing intensity, onto her face, obscuring her view.

"John, what the Hell is-" she began to demand, glancing back down at him, a perplexed frown quirking her dark brows, but John was no longer sat upon his tabletop. The table itself wasn't even there anymore, nor was his apartment, but just barely visible through the dark of night and the pelting rain was John's retreating back, collar of his dark trench coat drawn up tight about his ears as he marched down the street, attempting to escape the rain.

Angela, who was far beyond trying to fathom out what was happening, jogged to keep John's form in her vision at least. She called out to him numerous times but he either didn't hear her or didn't want to answer her. The latter of the two theories sounded the most likely.

She was just about to stop, a stitch tugging at her side painfully, when she noticed the man in a dark grey suit slam his shoulder in John's forcefully. The dark haired exorcist took an unintentional step backwards from the blow's sheer force, glaring over his shoulder at the culprit of the unprovoked attack.

"Balthazar!" they both gasped together, only able to watch as the smirking demi-demon strolled away, disappearing deep into the returning blackness.

"John!" she called out, her voice becoming hoarse with the amount of times that she had tried to shout him, but her surroundings warped and changed around her so that she was walking directly behind him down a narrow, dirty, dimly lit corridor.

John's hand gripped hers tightly as he pulled her deeper into the gloom.

"Don't stop. Don't look around. Eyes on me." he instructed her and Angela opened her mouth to protest. He tugged her hand harder before she could utter the first syllable of her testy retort and she fell silent again.

Reality, or what she deemed to be reality at that particular moment, shifted again and they were sat, side-by-side, legs pressed against each other in a small, one roomed apartment, similarly as filthy as the corridor that they had walked down previously. John's hand still clasped Angela's tightly, though a little more gently than before, making her feel comforted somewhat, though from what she had no idea.

"John, please, for God's sake, tell me what is happening here. I'm not-"

He turned to face her fully, dark brown eyes locking onto her hers and flashing with some distant emotion that made Angela's fingertips begin to tingle. He offered her his trademark smirk and motioned for silence by pressing his finger to his lips, her eye following that fingers seemingly slow motion movement all the while. The tingle spread to her entire hands when his lips and his forefinger pressed together softly, leaving her stunned into an open mouth silence, fury at his patronising gesture forgotten entirely.

What had she been thinking? Think, Angela, think! Yes! How dare he treat her like a child? She wasn't about to let a man like John Constantine dictate to her what she should and shouldn't do!

"Watch her work." he chuckled quietly, almost as if he had read the emotions clean off her face, motioning for her to turn her stare into the middle of the barely lit, wreck of a room to a figure that Angela couldn't quite make out.

"What is this?" she whispered, more to herself than to the man sat beside her who was proving to be distinctly unhelpful throughout the entire ordeal.

The figure moved with practiced ease, body and arms twist and swirling as if locked into a dance only they were hearing the music to. Fingers splayed and streaked with them violent colours of crimson and violet, making patterns and eddies upon a large, upright canvas.

"This is insane!" Angela murmured, her breath catching in her throat despite her declaration. She shook her head, eyes transfixed, in confused disbelief. "This makes no sense whatsoever…"

"The world stopped making sense centuries ago, Angie." the figure in the room's epicentre stated in a young, distinctly feminine voice, continuing to swirl the purple and red paint together on her canvas as she spoke. "And it's not likely to start makin' sense again anytime soon if this is all true."

Angela shook her head more forcefully, scrubbing at her eyes as if to make them see more clearly, as if to prove the vision before her was false.

"If what's true? Who are you anyway?" she half-queried, half-demanded.

The dark, indiscernible figure paused in her movements, turning instead to face the room's other, and only male occupant.

"You didn't tell her J.C?" she asked with a slightly amused tone and John chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. Receiving no further answer she turned back to Angela. "Ask John about it…"

Angela frowned, even more confused than ever, and glanced to her right at John, intent upon _demanding_ that he tell her what exactly was going on or _strangling_ him. Which she wanted to do more at that moment, she hadn't decided yet.

"You better start talking, _Constantine_, or I'll-" she halted as John gave her a sad smile, his face once again seeping into blackness, being swallowed by the ever present darkness and leaving her as she had been before…alone.

-:0O0o:-

Angela sat bolt upright in bed, body covered in a sheen of glistening sweat, gasping for breath as if she had just run a marathon. Her hands clawed desperately at the sweat soaked sheets, trying to pry them from their diligent, cloying grasp around her body.

Panic ripped through her chest like a silver bullet, like and electrical current, making her movements slow and clumsy until finally her fingers found purchase and tore her covers back from her trembling frame.

Dear God, what had she just seen?

Was it another vision? Or was it a particularly lucid dream?

No, it couldn't have been just a dream, it had felt as if she had been there. She had felt the icy rain pattering down on her face. She had felt John's hand on hers, for Christ's sake!

Angela lifted her hand, turning it before her face in the dim early morning light.

"Holy God!" the fear rippled through her again, icy cold as she grasped blindly for her bedside lamp.

Light spilled around her bedroom, flaring like a beacon on pale gold liquid and making Angela blink furiously until her eyes adjusted to the change of light.

Gingerly she reached out her other hand, fingertips brushing lightly over the small, round marks that were the result of her dream.

Fingerprints? _John's_ fingerprints?

They were most definitely what she feared them to be, pale stark white against her skin, slightly tanned from the sun that she had caught earlier that day, almost as if he were still clutching her hand, still grasping it firmly with invisible fingers.

"Oh my God!" she gasped again, her voice clawing it's way from her throat in short, high noises of terror as she scrambled desperately from her bed to stand in the middle of her room, shivering a little, though only partially due to the cold, in the dim circle of light.

Something was going on. Something was waiting to happen. It was there, lurking just beyond her psychic perception making a dull awareness tingle in the back of her mind. She couldn't discern what it was exactly though, as much as she tried to figure out what the strange, ominous feeling was and where it was coming from. It did not want to be discovered just yet, whatever it was.

She forced herself to calm down, to take things slowly although her mind was racing at a hundr4ed miles per second. She needed to look at it all logically.

It all had something to do with John Constantine. He had been prominent throughout her vision's entirety and the girl from the latter part, she had told Angela to ask John about it, hadn't she?

"Alright," she spoke aloud to herself, combing her fingers through her knotted hair. "John seems to be the most logical place to start. Perhaps he can figure all this out."

It was curious. She'd met him that very day. After weeks and weeks of nothing. After not seeing hide nor hair of the man who had saved her life and her sister's soul.

"I was meant to meet him today…" she whispered, again aloud to herself and glanced down at the fingerprints on her hand that were slowly beginning to bruise. Or had it all really just been a dream brought on by seeing him again? Had he triggered off the wilder part of her imagination?

Angela groaned, rubbing the heels of her palms into her tired eyes. She couldn't figure it out on her own either way, and the more that she tried, the stronger the thumping of a headache became behind her eyes. She needed to see John again, no matter which of the two it was. No matter if she was in fact going insane. If the dream was a real vision then he would most likely know what it meant. And if it wasn't more than a dream of a vivid imagination…then perhaps she'd finally work up the guts to finally do something about it and ask him out for a drink!

-:o0O0o:-


	6. Chapter 5: Of Fallen Angels

Another chapter, yay! Hopefully this is not too out of character but if it is…well, it just fitted! Hope you like!

-:o0O0o:-

Chapter 5: Of Fallen Angels.

Gabriel sat at the bar, nursing his fifth shot of whisky and a headache of growing ferocity.

That was the worst thing about finding himself a human once more. Pain assaulted him everywhere. At every turn, with every breath. He had come to expect it over the past few weeks but that did not mean that he had gotten used to it. Even the smallest incident, like stubbing a toe or trapping a finger made him clench his teeth, desperate to be relieved of the pain, spouting blasphemous words that he had never realised that he had known.

His magnificent wings, the colour of dusk, as soft a silk and as arching and majestic as the eagle's, had been reduced to nought more than burnt stumps. A constant aching reminder of what he had once been. And how they had _ached_. How they had stung and throbbed. He had not slept for weeks on end because of the agony and the reminder that the hurt brought with it.

Gabe gritted his teeth together, lifting his glass and draining it of the amber contents entirely, the fierce liquid drawing a distaste filled snarl from his lips as it scorched it's way down his throat and sunk deeper into his belly. The taste was foul to him but it was doing the desired job of numbing his mind and halting his thoughts. He didn't want to think, didn't want remember what it had been like before, how it had been for him in the graces of God.

And now he had been sentenced to a lifetime of pain and torture trying to earn his way back into Heaven, though it wasn't guaranteed even if he succeeded in being the most selfless and caring philanthropist ever to walk the earth plain.

Not knowing was possibly a worse burden to bare than discovering pain again. Not knowing if his sins would be forgiven after he had lived through his second life. Not being sure if God would welcome him back into the folds of angel-hood with open arms. Could he be what he had once been? Had his blind ambition to make those who entered Heaven worthy of being there, sundered his chances beyond repair?

"Only God is fit to judge who is worthy and who is not." a voice from behind his left shoulder interrupted his inner turmoil and despite being human once more, Gabe knew exactly who it was. "You should have known that, Brother, before throwing your lot in with Devil-spawn."

Gabe motioned for the girl behind the bar to give him another shot of whisky and she obliged warily, studying first Gabe and then his companions before moving away to serve another.

"Brother's!" Gabe snorted bitterly, swirling his fresh alcohol about his glass to create a miniature honey coloured tornado. "Come to gloat, no doubt?"

Michael placed a firm, slender fingered hand upon Gabe's shoulder, mindful of the protrusions that had once been wings, and squeezed gently.

"Not at all, Brother." he murmured. "We are concerned about you, is all."

"Can we not be concerned for you, Gabriel? Without drawing unjust suspicion and scrutiny?" Raphael added, true hurt tinting the tone of his deeper voice, though only Gabriel distinguished it. Raphael took the barstool to Gabe's right and turned to consider the former angel's face and study his reaction.

Gabe, however, continued to stare into his drink as if it held the answers to all of his problems within it's golden liquid. For a long moment he ignored his once compatriot's stare, eyes glazed and unseeing.

"No." he answered Raphael's question finally and shortly, tipping his head back and taking down his drink in a single swallow. He cracked the glass down onto the bar top with so much force that it reverberated through the air and laced Gabe's irritation about them like smoke plumes.

Michael loosed a deep and weary sigh of disappointment, moving so that he could rest his back against the bar counter to Gabriel's left, effectively pinning the wayward ex-half-breed in place between himself and Raphael. He carefully and deliberately folded his arms across his blue tank top clad chest, golden crucifix glinting upon a delicate chain, threaded loosely about his slender neck.

"Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel…surely you see the error of your ways?" he asked, raising a perfectly shaped, flaxen eyebrow in question and he was rewarded by a snatched glance from the subject of his attention. It had been the first time that Gabe had dared to look at him since they had entered the smoky atmosphere of "Club Midnite".

Again after another longer paused, Gabe shrugged, folding his own arms atop the bar and leaning his weight onto it.

"Surely you see what I was trying to accomplish, _Michael_?" Gabe countered, and Raphael snorted causing the narrowed grey-green eyes of his old companion to snap to him in a swift, fierce motion.

"You were playing _God_, Gabe, and _everyone_ knows it!" Raph retorted, tossing his loose, shoulder length, auburn hair back from his slim face. "You played with fire, _Brother_, and as a result, you got _burned_!"

Gabe gave a mirthless sneering sound, not oblivious to Raph's choice of words and their reason. At any other moment he may have been amused at Raph's ironic wording. Burned. Indeed he had been burned, by the very fire of Hell. He had felt it consuming his wings, turning them to charcoal. But Raphael had always had a strange sense of humour…for an angel.

Gabe ignored them both for long moments as he demanded a seventh measure of whisky and drawing a dubious glance from the bar-girl.

"Why are you here?" he demanded finally after swallowing it in one yet again, knocking it back and allowing liquid fire to burn down his throat. He licked his lips, twisting and turning his glass in the faint light and watching as the beam refracted into miniature rainbows. "If you've come to lecture me, _Michael_, then you are wasting your time…" he paused, turning a cold, humourless grin to his former cohort. "Like you said before, _Mikey_. Only God is fit to judge."

Gabe rapped his knuckles against the bar causing the sharp cracks to shoot through the air like gunshots as he held up his empty glass to the same barmaid and silently demanded another measure of alcohol.

"Sorry, Gabe. I think you've had enough for one night." she said, reaching for the whisky glass. Gabe's hand tightened about it reflexively and the girl pulled harder, needing to use a considerable amount of force as the once angel held onto it stubbornly with a white knuckled fist.

Gabriel drew his lips back over his teeth into a soundless snarl and the girl returned his glare with her own.

"Don't look at me like that, Bucko! You've had seven already! Now you can either sit tight with water and lemonade or I can call in Bruno and have him kick your sorry ass out!" she scowled at him a little harder. "Your choice." she finally succeeded in plucking it from his grasp as she spoke and turned shaking her head, muttering curses under her breath as she moved back down the bar once more.

Gabe glared at her disappearing back, seemingly ignoring his visitors and Michael made a noise of disappointment from deep in his throat.

"Look, Brother. We are not here to judge you. That was never our intention." he returned his hand to Gabe's shoulder in a comforting gesture but it was shrugged off almost immediately.

"Really…" the sarcasm dripped from Gabe's bitter word, twisting it and making it harsh. So unlike him.

"We were _worried _about _you_, Gabe!" Raphael added in a desperate hiss, causing Gabe's gaze to flicker from one angel to the other, though still dubious.

"We are serious, Gabriel, and the true reason that we are here is to warn you." Michael stated firmly.

Gabe's grey-green eyes brightened with sudden interest at Michael's words but his features remained decidedly guarded.

"Something in this world is coming. Something powerful. Something dreadful and no matter how hard you try not to be, you are going to play a pivotal role in what occurs." Michael paused to clear his throat and fingered the gold cross at his collar bones almost nervously. Both he and Raphael glanced about warily before they dared to continue. "This is your chance, Gabriel, to earn your way back into Heaven, what shall come to pass, we do not know exactly. We feel it, mainly, sense it in the thrum of the air." Michael halted his speech again, allowing Raphael to continue where he left off.

"You are coming to a cross roads, Brother." he murmured, grasping one of Gabe's hands in his and squeezing it tightly. "Make your choices wisely from now on, for the consequences will be great if you choose wrong." Raph lifted his free hand and jerked his thumb downwards to the floor, making a deceivingly comical 'raspberry' sound.

Gabe's eyes widened slightly at the implications.

"I'll go to Hell if I make the wrong choice?" he queried, a little breathless and something akin to panic tainting his voice, making it quiver. Fear at such a notion scored through his body as if he had been stuck by lightening. His back was suddenly rigid, instead of slumped as it had been.

Michael gave an almost imperceptible nod of his flaxen head, features grave, mirroring Raphael's who still clasped Gabe's hand firmly.

Of all of the angels, Raph had been the one that Gabe had gotten on with the most. They were of like minds, or they had been before his plan had burnt, quite literally, to the ground.

"Come, Raphael." Michael announced suddenly, standing and stepping back from the bar. "We have said our piece. Now we must take our leave."

Raphael was more reluctant to leave Gabriel's side but he did as his angelic companion said and stood.

"Now we must bid you farewell, Gabriel." the golden haired demi-angel smiled briefly, though concern flickered through his sapphire eyes as Gabe stood shakily to face them one final time.

Michael grasped Gabe by the shoulders, drawing him into an embrace of both arms and wings, laying a parting kiss on either cheek, before pulling away and pushing something into the fallen angel's hands.

Glinting out from between his fingers, Gabe recognised Michael's golden crucifix necklace, bright and glittering in his no longer soft, but callused palm.

"Michael, I can't-" he began, shaking his dark blond head, but the angel only smiled sadly and softly and held up his hand to halt Gabe's protest.

"You are in need of it more than I am." he stated and after a long moment, Gabe nodded and laced it around his neck gently.

"Thank you, Brother." he nodded, gratitude deep in his grey-green eyes.

Raphael stepped up then, enfolding his arms and wings about Gabriel as Michael had done before him, but there was more warmth, more emotion in Raph's arms and Gabe found himself returning the embrace, grasping him in an attempt to relieve the icy chill that had fallen like a death veil across his heart.

"Be careful, Gabe." Raph said loud enough for Michael to hear and then he kissed Gabe's left cheek, whispering softly as he did, so that only he could hear. "And know that even if you do fall, even if you do choose wrong and are damned for it, I will still think of you as highly as I do now. I will still think you my brother." he didn't give Gabe the chance to respond, laying a swift kiss on his other cheek before stepping back to Michael's side.

"Until we meet again, Brother." Michael murmured and the pair were suddenly away, shouldering through the crowded club and disappearing into the shimmering, smoky air, leaving Gabriel suddenly sober.

-:o0O0o:-

Reviews, comments, constructive criticism are all welcomed!


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